CONVERSATION
- ©John Low
She exists in my memory, well defined,
a thin stem of a woman touching eighty,
old Miss Carey who saw the beauty
in abandoned ground,
took her rake and let her long life
late bloom in this narrow space,
where now a green oasis bears her name
and, down the steep slope beside the steps,
her garden cascades still,
almost to the water's edge.
A drizzle of seagulls
settles on the boat sheds of Careening Cove
and I've become a child again
bearing warm gifts from bakers' ponies
to feed the hunger of her plants,
eager to share her conversation,
each flower a word carefully chosen.
First appeared in 'Famous Reporter', No. 26, December 2002
|
